


Brutal Honesty

by ShowMeAHero



Series: Easy To Begin, But Hard To End [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Also Lovely Sidewalk Love, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Cosette Makes Everyone Hot Chocolate, Angst, Brotp, Enjolras Is Not Used To Being Wrong, Fighting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, Protests, Romance, like a lot of brotps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has a lot of passion inside of him. Sometimes, it just comes out wrong, and people get hurt. He's not used to being wrong; thankfully, Les Amis are there to kick his ass into shape, because nobody likes it when Enjolras and Grantaire fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brutal Honesty

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I'm going to turn this into a series now. And, you know, the thing is, I'm not even sorry.
> 
> This is set eight months after "I Need You, Amour"; this is during their sophomore year.  
> (April 2nd, 2013)

Enjolras’ flat was something of a hotspot for the group, and they all have been hanging around there long enough to have established a normal routine. Combeferre usually ends up reading in the corner in an old beanbag chair, occasionally engaging in heated discussions with Enjolras; he does not often stay the night, but, when he does, he sleeps on that beanbag. Jehan sprawls on the floor, surrounded by pillows and paper, writing poems and sonnets and whatever comes into his head; he often passes them out to the other people at the flat, if he thinks they need it. He stays the night if he is tired enough to feel he needs to.

Courfeyrac is Marius’ roommate and a close friend of Enjolras’ at the same time, so he and Marius will often come together, but only Courfeyrac will crash there; Marius often does not. While Courfeyrac often tells stories to them all while he is there, he also talks animatedly with Enjolras quite often. Marius brings Cosette along most of the time, and the two of them usually just stay in the corner of the sofa, making sweet, annoying faces at each other. Eponine chooses to ignore them most of the time, turning her face away from them forcefully and talking to anyone else. She mostly talks to Jehan, who turns her sad words into poetry and tries to make her feel better. Sometimes, her younger brother, Gavroche, will tag along. She does not stay over too often.

Bahorel pretends to study his law notes, but his margins are full of absent doodles and he often just lounges, sleeping on and off on the opposite end of the sofa. Feuilly will usually get into debates with Enjolras; though they are usually on the same side, they still find things to argue about. Bahorel and Feuilly sometimes sleep over at Enjolras’, if they have nothing else to do. Joly spends most of his time mothering the others, fretting over them and obsessively diagnosing everyone, using the copious notes he takes from his classes and textbooks to proclaim someone in possession of this illness or that. He never stays over on his own; he only stays if someone falls ill and needs looking after, because he will not bring them back to his own apartment. Bossuet will usually loudly recount how terrible his day was and how bad his luck is, but he remains in good spirits and will turn on the television more often than not to catch a movie. He stays over sometimes just so that he can make breakfast in the morning.

Grantaire is something different altogether. While he is similar to the others when there are more people there, he is still quite different, ever since he and Enjolras got together. He drinks less (also thanks to Enjolras), so he is quieter, but he is still always there, whether he is asleep against the wall, working at the kitchen table, or dictating to Jehan poems which he wants written. Most of the time, though, he sprawls out in one of the two armchairs, pulls out one of the various notebooks he keeps in the knapsack he carries everywhere, and he will draw, paint, sketch, or just do something of the sort with his hands to keep himself occupied. Enjolras sits in the other armchair, right beside Grantaire, and keeps an eye on everyone, alternatively interacting with people who are bored with interacting with others. It never gets old there, that is for sure.

Of course, even though Enjolras and Grantaire have been together for eight months, they are still vastly different people, despite being best friends, as well, and they fight still sometimes. When they do fight, it is never a small affair; it is a loud, angry thing, and everyone sits quietly and tries not to draw attention to themselves while it is happening. While the others still fight, no fight makes them feel worse than Enjolras’ and Grantaire’s. It is much like a mother and a father fighting with each other; it makes them all feel uncomfortable and sad, and as though their group may fall apart without their “leader”. The fights usually end in one of them disappearing to the bedroom while the other waits in the living room until everyone leaves. They are always fine next day, so nobody ever asks questions. The fights are never too nasty; they are, more often than not, over trivial things that just get blown out of proportion.

Today, though. Today was different.

Today, the afternoon found them all there in Enjolras’ apartment, save for three of them, those three being Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras himself. They had been attending what Enjolras had said was a “peaceful protest, it’ll only last a couple hours, don’t wait up for dinner,” as he grabbed his coat and ran out the door. The rest of them were shoved into the small living room, and they were relatively quiet, save for the sounds of Grantaire rummaging around in the cabinets in the conjoined kitchen. Bossuet had the television on low on a news station and had been staring at it blankly before jerking up.

“Grantaire.” Bossuet’s voice was not loud, but the tone of it caught everyone’s attention, and they all turned to him, Grantaire included.

“Yes?” Grantaire said hesitantly, coming closer to stand behind the sofa and peer at the television.

“Was this the protest Enjolras was going to?” Bossuet was talking even quieter now, and it made the whole room’s atmosphere thicker with anxiety. Grantaire stepped towards the television and bent down towards it, reading the headline underneath the chaotic riot scene playing out at the protest.

“Yes.” Grantaire repeated, his voice almost choked. His face was filled with sheer fear; Jehan’s papers were scattered, and he was leaning up towards the television; Marius was on the floor beside Jehan, trying to see better, and Cosette, still sitting on the sofa, had a nervous hand on his arm; Eponine was tucked into Marius’ side, his arm around her comfortingly; Bahorel had abandoned his notes and was staring intently at the television; Feuilly looked terrified, almost as terrified as Grantaire, but not quite so terrified as Joly, who had gone white as a sheet. All of them jumped when the front door was thrown open and Combeferre and Courfeyrac were helping Enjolras in. Grantaire was there in a second, taking Enjolras from them and leading him to the couch; Joly hopped up and ran from the room. Jehan turned the television off.

“You told me this was going to be peaceful.” Grantaire muttered, checking over Enjolras’ injuries; he looked tired, but his eyes were still open. He had two black eyes and a cut running from the middle of his forehead to his right temple; he was breathing heavily; he had a split lip and a bloody nose. His clothes were torn in several places, and Grantaire tried not to think about what may lay on Enjolras’ skin under those tears. Joly rushed back into the room, shoving bandages into Cosette’s alarmed hands and passing a wet washcloth to Grantaire.

“Start cleaning him up.” Joly pointed out all the bloody streaks on Enjolras’ face, and Grantaire did not have to be told twice. Joly moved to the gash in Enjolras’ forehead, frowning at it for a moment before he set to work on cleaning and sewing it up.

“I’m about ninety-five percent sure that Enjolras started that riot.” Courfeyrac piped up after a moment of thick silence. Combeferre laughed nervously.

“Well, it may have been the other man’s fault. I think he instigated it by, you know, having a different opinion than Enjolras.” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac grinned.

“You would not be wrong in that assumption.” Courfeyrac agreed. Enjolras rolled his eyes as Grantaire continued dabbing at the blood.

“I did not start the riot, the riot would have started without me.” Enjolras corrected. “And, besides, that man said _heinous_ things and he-”

“Whoah, whoah, what did we talk about?” Grantaire said in a low voice. “I stop drinking, you stop fighting.”

“You haven’t stopped drinking, so why should I stop fighting?” Enjolras spat, wincing when Joly tugged at his skin.

“Sorry, sorry.” Joly muttered under his breath, moving to tie the end of the cotton thread in a knot and place a wide, thick bandage along the length of the freshly-stitched wound.

“I’m trying my best. Going cold turkey is dangerous, and we know that.” Grantaire said, his voice louder now, though he tried to keep it calm, since he did not want to argue with Enjolras now, of all times. He continued wiping at the blood on Enjolras’ lip. Once Joly moved away, Enjolras swatted Grantaire’s hand away.

“I don’t need you to baby me.” Enjolras snapped, moving to stand up. Joly was there in an instant, forcing him back down, looking over the cuts on his skin.

“These don’t need stitches, but I’ll put antibiotics and bandages on them, just to be safe.” Joly did exactly as he said quite quickly, seemingly anxious to be out Enjolras’ way; his anger was still bubbling, and he did not want to be on the receiving end.

“I’m not babying you. I’m helping you, just like Joly is.” Grantaire said, a bite in his words, standing up from his kneeling position in front of Enjolras.

“Joly is a doctor. You are not.” Enjolras bit off, keeping eye contact with Grantaire as he spoke and Joly spread the antibiotic ointment on the cuts.

“I’m not stitching you up, I’m cleaning you up.” Grantaire reminded him, fiddling with the washcloth in his hands.

“Yes, well, I don’t need it.” Enjolras’ eyes darted to Joly, then back up to Grantaire again. “You can go.”

The room’s silence thickened again. Cosette looked on the edge of tears as she passed Joly the bandages as he requested. Grantaire hesitated for a moment, torn between either listening to Enjolras and leaving, or staying, as he clearly wished to.

“I will not go until I’m sure you’re okay.” Grantaire finally said. Enjolras stood up quickly, getting into Grantaire’s face. The leftover anger from the protest-turned-riot seemed to rise quickly to his surface.

“I am _fine_ , Grantaire. Why don’t you run off to the bar or something and leave me alone.” Enjolras’ words were not shouted; they never were when they fought. He always spoke concisely, his words aiming neatly at the places he knew would hurt most. Grantaire ignored this, knowing Enjolras was just angry that the protest had not gone the way he wished.

“I’ll stay here, thanks.” Grantaire crossed his arms, washcloth still gripped tightly in his left hand. Enjolras’ face turned slightly red.

“Fine, then I’m going.” Enjolras moved to walk away, but Grantaire moved quickly, grabbing Enjolras by his upper arms. The rest of the group seemed to inhale all at once as they watched; Courfeyrac seemed ready to intervene in a moment if he had to.

“Don’t leave like this.” Grantaire said in a low voice, trying to make sure Enjolras was the only one who would hear. Enjolras did not care, and he shoved Grantaire away from him. Grantaire seemed to react automatically, stumbling backwards and putting his hands up to defend himself. Marius stood up, his face deeply worried.

“I’ll leave any way I want. This is my damn house, Grantaire- I don’t know why all these goddamn people are always here!” Enjolras waved a hand at the rest of the room, who looked surprised at being addressed; Enjolras kept his eyes focused on Grantaire.

“This is...” Grantaire trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, I suppose it is yours.”

“Yes, it is mine, but _I_ am not _yours_.” Enjolras snapped. Grantaire’s face fell for a brief moment before he stepped forward, reaching out towards Enjolras, for his hands. Enjolras stepped away from him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Enjolras.” Eponine said softly, standing up, hovering slightly behind Marius. Enjolras whirled on her, and Grantaire looked frightened for a moment. Eponine squared her shoulders.

“I am not being ridiculous-” Enjolras began, but Grantaire frowned.

“You are-” Grantaire reached out, grabbing Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras had not expected Grantaire’s touch, and reacted instinctively, turning and swinging a solid, ready fist into Grantaire’s face. Everyone shouted, and Joly was there in a moment, helping Grantaire tip his head back, but Grantaire pushed forwards. “Damn it, Enjolras! You are acting just-”

“Like your father, right? God, I am so _sick_ of all this about... Grantaire, grow up, and realize that maybe I’m not going to be your father. Maybe you are.” Enjolras spat, his hands shaking at his sides. Though Enjolras’ arguments were usually aimed to wound, they were never aimed to kill, and topics like Grantaire’s family were never brought up, as a rule. Grantaire’s nose was bleeding steadily, but he ignored it, stopping only to wipe at his face with his sleeve.

“I was going to say like a _child_!” Grantaire shouted, stepping closer, getting into Enjolras’ face. “You are acting like a _child_! Just because your protest didn’t go the way you wanted it to-”

“This has nothing to do with my protest and everything to do with the way you treat me! You don’t respect me!” Enjolras was losing control of the argument; his words had lost their precision, and he was beginning to get truly angry. The rest of the group shrank back slightly, unused to hearing Enjolras shout at anyone when he was not debating.

“Oh, because you deserve all the respect, and I deserve none, then, is that it?” Grantaire asked, waving his right hand around; his other hand came up to wipe at his nose again, and it covered his left hand in blood.

“You deserve respect when you earn respect! You have done nothing to earn my respect!” Enjolras raised his hands in the air and let them drop back down to his sides with a slap.

“So, I’ve done nothing to earn your respect?” Grantaire stepped closer to Enjolras. “What, dedicating myself to you hasn’t earned your respect? Loving you since the day I met you isn’t enough?”

“Well, maybe it was a mistake!” Enjolras finally spat, and Grantaire recoiled as if he had been slapped.

“Maybe it was!” Grantaire hesitated for a moment, looking like he was on the edge of saying something more, but, instead, he just spun around and left the flat, slamming the door behind him. Enjolras’ face was still bright ruby red, the same color as his jacket.

“Why the hell did you say that, Enjolras?” Feuilly sighed. Eponine grabbed Cosette by the hand and rushed out the door after Grantaire; Cosette grabbed the first aid kit from Joly as she was dragged by him.

“He... He can’t just...” Enjolras trailed off, waving absently at the door before sitting back down on the sofa. Courfeyrac smacked him on the back.

“He can’t just what? Love you?” Courfeyrac finished, raising an eyebrow. “You’re an absolute arse.”

“You know, most people say “I love you, too.”” Marius offered, grinning widely, ever the hopeless romantic. Bahorel slapped him in the back of the head.

“I can’t believe you hit him, Enjolras. That’s just... Why would you do that?” Jehan asked softly. Enjolras put his elbows on his knees and wound his hands in his hair.

“I didn’t think. I just reacted.” Enjolras mumbled, shoving his hands all of the way through his hair and breathing out.

“Try to stay calm.” Joly warned worriedly, his hands hovering nearby. Enjolras waved his hands away.

“I should follow him.” Enjolras said, determined. He stood up off the sofa again, but Marius stepped forward and pushed him back down.

“Let him cool off. ‘Ponine or Cosette will text me when he’s ready.” Marius looked down at him, waiting to speak again until Enjolras made eye contact. “You’re in the wrong this time. Just wait.”

“I know.” Enjolras breathed out heavily. He was not used to the turn of events; usually, he would be the one calming the others down while they freaked out about the fight. He was more than willing to let them take care of this one for a little while, though; Marius was right - he was the one in the wrong this time. He was not used to that. “One of them will text you?”

“Of course they will.” Marius crouched down in front of Enjolras and laid a hand on his shoulder. The others hovered nearby, unsure of what to do under the strange circumstance that is their leader needing their help, for once. “Don’t worry about it.”

* * *

 

“Hey, stop, Grantaire.” Eponine let go of Cosette’s hand in order to grab Grantaire’s sleeve as he tried to head down the stairs of the building. Cosette tugged a handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it to her bleeding friend, who pressed it to his nose apologetically.

“I’ll wash it.” Grantaire offered. Cosette laughed like bells.

“Don’t worry about it right now.” Cosette told him gently. Eponine helped him to sit down in the stairwell, glad that they were still inside - it was April outside, but the day was still unnaturally chilly.

“He didn’t mean that, you know.” Eponine assured him, pushing his hair out of the way of his eyes. Cosette helped him to tip his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose for him. Eponine continued running her fingers through his hair. “He’s just angry, and he knows you won’t leave.”

“Still. That wasn’t fair.” Grantaire sighed, letting his eyes shut. “What an arse.”

Cosette and Eponine laughed together. Grantaire allowed himself to be examined, and, once it had been unanimously decided by Cosette and Eponine that his nose had stopped bleeding, Cosette gripped his upper arms and looked him in the eyes firmly. Eponine stole the handkerchief from Grantaire’s fingers and tucked it into her back pocket; she will make Enjolras wash it later.

“Your nose does not look too bad, but I will set it anyways. Okay?” Cosette told him slowly. Grantaire nodded, having had this done to him before by Cosette, Enjolras, and Joly alike; it still hurt when it happened. She made a triangle with her hands and dragged his nose back into place while he breathed deeply and generally pretended it was not happening. Once she finished, she picked through the first aid kit Joly had given to her as she had left until she found a chilly ice pack. She pressed it to his nose and murmured soothing nonsense words to him.

“Nothing your face has not seen before, I assure you.” Eponine laughed. Grantaire cracked a small smile and let himself be guided down so that he was half-laying on the same step that Cosette was sitting on. She helped his head into her lap, still pressing the ice pack to his face; Eponine kept threading her fingers through his hair quietly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cosette asked softly once Grantaire’s breathing evened out. He opened his eyes and tipped his head back slightly to meet her eyes, then Eponine’s.

“Do you think he doesn’t love me? He’s always so... _brutally_ honest when we argue.” Grantaire asked, his face pale, his blue eyes standing out unnaturally against his skin. “Maybe he honestly doesn’t love me anymore.”

“Don’t be stupid, Grantaire.” Eponine scolded, smacking him on the chest before resuming her quiet combing of his hair with her hands.

“Of course he loves you. You’ve seen how Enjolras loves, with all that passion. Sometimes, that passion just... comes out wrong.” Cosette told him, holding the ice pack away from his face for a moment so that she could see his eyes. “You’ve seen how he gets about these causes he supports, about his protests and his rallies and his organizations. He gets the same about you. He’s just never had to do something like this before, and he’s doing it... well, wrong.”

“He knows you love him, too.” Eponine reminded him. “Everyone knows you do. He's not exactly stupid, R.”

“No,he is not. I, however...” Grantaire sighed. “I am the stupid one. I never should have...”

“Never should have what?” Eponine asked, seeming surprised. “You, for once, have done nothing wrong. This one’s not your fault.”

Grantaire fell silent after that; the girls followed suit, doing the same until Grantaire was comfortable speaking again. Cosette had her head bent over his, checking his nose. Grantaire shifted quietly, shutting his eyes again as though he might fall asleep there in the stairwell. Eponine laid her head next to his on the step, her position awkward but still evidently comforting to Grantaire, as he moved his head closer to hers when she did so. She continued running her fingers through his curls of hair. Finally, after about twenty minutes of the calming, comforting silence, Grantaire spoke again.

“I should go back.” Grantaire said softly. “Yes, I should... go back. Do you think he’s still mad?”

“By now?” Cosette asked, nodding to Eponine, who sat up, took out her phone, and started texting Marius. “He’s probably angrier at himself.”

"He ought to be. I love him, damn it.” Grantaire smiled slightly wider than he did earlier before he turned to Eponine. “Did you text Marius?”

Eponine looked a bit surprised, but she nodded her head. “Yes, I did.”

“And is Enjolras ready for me to come back?” Grantaire asked, allowing Cosette to help him sit up on the step. The three hauled themselves to their feet; Cosette bent slightly, once she was standing, in order to pack the first aid kit back up.

“He is always ready for you.” Cosette promised him, taking his hand in her free one. Eponine took his other hand, and he laughed, tugging both girls closer to him, wrapping his arms around each one.

“Oh, what would I do without you two girls?” Grantaire asked laughingly, kissing each girl on the top of her head.

“Certainly not Enjolras.” Eponine answered, and Grantaire shoved her away from him, only for her to come back to his side like a magnet. The two girls pulled him back to the door of Enjolras’ flat.

“Are you ready? Are you sure you’re okay?” Cosette asked, pulling her hand free of his in order to run it down his back.

“Yes, of course. It’s just Enjolras. I’m sure he won’t actually kill me.” Grantaire smiled, but it did not light up his face in the way that his smiles usually did, and Eponine and Cosette pressed kisses to the cheeks on their respective sides at the same time. He smiled a little wider and let Cosette push the door open. All the men in the room froze and looked up at the door as Cosette, then Eponine entered, and Grantaire following them, rubbing at his arm. Joly came up to Grantaire worriedly, turning his face this way and that.

“Did you set this, Cosette?” Joly asked the blonde girl quietly. She nodded, leaning over his shoulder to inspect her handiwork with him. “It is quite good, good job. His eyes will bruise, but that’s inevitable in this case.”

Enjolras stood suddenly, and all the eyes in the room flew to him. He met Grantaire’s eyes, and the dark-haired man nodded, moving silently away from the girls and Joly to the coat rack, grabbing his coat. He slipped his arms through it, ignoring the eyes he could feel on him. Bossuet picked something up off the table and brought it over to Grantaire. He shoved it onto Grantaire’s head at once, and Grantaire smiled as he felt his familiar red beanie get tugged over his wild hair. Enjolras pulled his coat on beside Grantaire just as quietly, ignoring the faces turned towards them as he did so. He turned and left without a second glance; Grantaire offered the rest of the room an apologetic look before disappearing out the door after Enjolras. He trailed him down the stairs, through the lobby, out into the street, and down the chilly sidewalk for a few minutes more after that before either of them spoke.

“We’re going to match, you and I.” Grantaire finally spoke up. Enjolras gave him a questioning side glance, which Grantaire answered by motioning at their faces. “The black eyes. We’ll match."

“Lovely.” Enjolras said softly, letting his attention fall back to his feet. “Listen, Grantaire-”

“I underst-”

“No, Grantaire.” Enjolras stopped walking, and Grantaire halted beside him. Enjolras kept his head down, so Grantaire came in front of him, shoving his hands in his coat pockets and waiting for Enjolras to continue. Finally, he did, turning his face up to look into Grantaire’s dark-rimmed, patient eyes. “You have to listen. No interrupting. Alright?”

“That’ll be hard for me, but you have my word.” Grantaire offered him a slight smile, and Enjolras almost did not want to see the likes of such a depressing thing.

“Grantaire, I... I’m sorry, you know I am.” Enjolras tried to keep his hands in his pockets, but they itched to move as he spoke. “I didn’t want to... hit you. I didn’t mean to. I’m so, so sorry for that. You’re right, I was acting... like a child. I was, too, acting like your father, and that’s not fair of me to bring up. You’re nothing like your father, and I don’t want to be, either.” Enjolras’ hands were flying all over the place now, slicing through the crisp air with his erratic movements. “I... was angry, you’re right, and not with you. And I know you respect me, and I respect you. And I love you, you know that.” Enjolras’ hands settled down, and his eyes met Grantaire’s. The dark-haired man just laughed. “What? What’s so funny?”

“You absolute idiot.” Grantaire said through his laughs as he ran his hands through his hair. “I’ve waited so long to hear that from you. Respect, as you know, is not something easily earned from you.”

Enjolras frowned. “Surely you already knew that I respect you.”

“Ahh, to assume and to hear it said are two completely different things. Did you know that I’ve lived for you since the day I met you?” Grantaire’s grin widened, and it lit his whole face. “It is so lovely to hear that, finally...”

“I live for you, too.” Enjolras smiled a bit at him before he furrowed his brow. “Not just you, though.”

“No, no, of course not. There are causes to get yourself busted up for.” Grantaire insisted, his hand waving through the air in an imitation of Enjolras’. Enjolras smiled again, but it vanished in a moment.

“Do you forgive me?” Enjolras asked quietly. “I cannot forgive myself, but I can’t have you mad at me.”

“I’ll forgive you if you’ll make it up to me.” Grantaire promised, sidling closer and wrapping his arms around Enjolras’ neck, his hands clasped behind his golden curls. Enjolras reacted on habit, gripping Grantaire’s hips in his hands.

“And how will I go about that, dare I ask?” Enjolras inquired, raising one eyebrow. The bandage on his forehead shifted with the movement, and his eyes were purple-rimmed with bruise.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something.” Grantaire answered solemnly before his face cracked into a smile, and he leaned in to press a warm kiss to Enjolras’ split lip, right there on the sidewalk.

* * *

 

“Tell me you didn’t.” Eponine groaned the second the two men returned to Enjolras’ apartment. The rest of the group looked up, and Joly sighed.

“Outside? Really? It’s cold, you could’ve caught something.” Joly scolded, coming up to press a hand to Enjolras’ and Grantaire’s flushed foreheads in turn.

“You two are disgusting.” Jehan piped up from the floor. Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“At least we’re getting some, Poet Laureate.” Grantaire teased, shrugging off his coat. Enjolras took it from him and hung it up along with his on the coat rack by the door.

“I could get plenty if I wanted!” Jehan argued back. Eponine covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

“So you just choose not to, then?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire immediately burst into laughter.

“Our fearless leader jokes! Entirely cut from marble, our Apollo is not!” Grantaire reached over and ruffled Enjolras’ already untidy hair, and Enjolras would be lying if he said that did not make him smile.

“Who’s in the mood for hot chocolate, then?” Cosette asked, her musical voice loud and high. Marius grinned and stood, and Cosette swung onto his back, allowing him to carry her to the kitchen amongst a chorus of “I do!”’s being shouted at her in response.

“Save Enjolras’ and mine in the microwave. He has a debt to pay.” Grantaire called to Cosette as he grabbed Enjolras by the lapel of his red jacket and dragged him down the hallway to Enjolras’ bedroom. Courfeyrac groaned loudly and threw himself into the beanbag chair that Combeferre was already seated in. Soon, Cosette and Marius returned with everyone’s mugs of hot chocolate, and the group settled around the television to watch _The Lion King_ , singing along loudly and turning the volume up when the noise in the next room got to be too much.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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